


staring at the sun (just like you, there's only one)

by thethirdheart



Series: hinayachi adventures [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 10k of thirst for Shouyou, Anxious Yachi Hitoka, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Light Angst, Mentioned Kozume Kenma, Mentioned Miya Atsumu, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Pro Volleyball Player Hinata Shouyou, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Yachi Hitoka-centric, Yachi is quite tame with her thoughts tho so don't worry, pre timeskip only at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethirdheart/pseuds/thethirdheart
Summary: Her life is indeed a shoujo manga of unrequited love. But it doesn’t feature an emotionally constipated protagonist. This protagonist shines in a separate shonen storyline.He’s too busy training and bickering with Kageyama at the entrance of volleyball heaven, and unwittingly drags her heart into the fray.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Yachi Hitoka
Series: hinayachi adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909576
Comments: 65
Kudos: 312





	staring at the sun (just like you, there's only one)

## “Hit it with a bam!”

**_High School, First year, 2012_ **

The saying goes something like this:

_The world ends,  
Not with a bang,  
But a whimper._

Similarly, Yachi Hitoka's crush on Hinata Shouyo starts with a bang—to be precise, a volleyball on her nose.

Blood gushes, everyone is concerned, practice is temporarily disrupted, and the assailant being Hinata—Ironically or not depending on your perspective—fusses over her in frantic guilt.

Objectively, that did more harm than good, but Hitoka didn't have the heart to get annoyed at him, even after he came close and poked her bleeding nose to 'test whether it was intact!'. Shimizu tugs him away eventually, calmly assuring them both—red faced, nasally Hitoka and dejected Hinata—that everything will be okay and _don't worry, Yachi doesn't seem to be suffering from a concussion_.

No, a concussion was not the primary concern. She just got a ball spiked into her face because she had zoned out staring at Hinata. Talk about fate literally slapping her out of a daydream. There must be some kind of divine signal at work here; she's not supposed to focus on one particular volleyball player while nursing an unhealthy desire to see said volleyball player smile, laugh, talk, and play volleyball.

Having suffered a strike to her face and droplets of blood on her white undershirt to prove it happened, Hitoka was also struck with the realization that oh, I like Hinata that way.

 _As in, not platonically. As in, if Hinata returned my feelings I'd die and ascend to heaven. As in, if he kissed me I would kiss him back. As in, I've doodled him so many times and once i wrote my name as Hinata Hitoka_ —

Yes, those feelings. The power that Karasuno’s resident decoy had over her.

Her life is indeed a shoujo manga of unrequited love. But it doesn’t feature an emotionally constipated protagonist. This protagonist shines in a separate shonen storyline. He’s too busy training and bickering with Kageyama at the entrance of volleyball heaven, and unwittingly drags her heart into the fray.

* * *

Hinata comes by the apartment alone one evening because Kageyama had a family engagement, and stays until dinnertime. Hitoka juggles between drilling English vocabulary into a mind that only accepts volleyball knowledge, prepping dinner, and acting normal. She's beginning to think that she's a great multitasker.

It is a normal Saturday evening; a quiet one for once, free of Kageyama and Hinata loudly competing over how many questions they answered correctly. She doesn't usually mind the noise, but watching Hinata sitting cross-legged at the coffee table and copying her notes diligently, scrapes wrongly against a tender and vulnerable spot on her heart.

The front door clicks open and she hears her mom's six-inch high heels before seeing her walk in.

"Welcome home, mom."

"Good evening, Mrs Yachi!" Hinata, bless him, greets her quickly.

Yachi Madoka hums, sliding off her heels in one elegant movement. On the way to her room, she ducks her head into the living room. Her eyes wander around languidly, and she cracks a smile when Hinata waves at her enthusiastically.

Hinata does have that effect on people after all, Hitoka thinks with a mixture of pride and unease. Who wouldn't, coming home to the living epitome of sunlight?

The smile slips as her mother shifts the attention to her.

Initially, Hitoka wonders whether her beautiful mother ever deactivates the businesswoman persona from work; then she starts thinking that her mother doesn’t have an ‘off’ mode. She also stopped wondering why her mother works on weekends and never takes time off a while ago.

"Hitoka, I won't be eating with you tonight. A client needs me to make changes on their business proposal, so I'll be working in the study for the rest of the night. Can you—"

Hitoka knows the drill already. Her mother doesn't waste time to apologize. It's a normal routine. "I'll bring dinner to you, don't worry."

Her mother, or rather, CEO Yachi Madoka of Yachi Create, nods once. The door to the study slides shut with finality.

The timer pings. She removes the lid and the steam rushes out, a fragrant moist heat that teeters just short of scalding.

Hinata makes a happy sound from the living room. "That smells wonderful, Yachi-san! You're a great cook!"

His heartfelt words dispel the thunderclouds hovering dangerously close to the surface, filling the dreary atmosphere with sunshine and warmth instead. Hitoka blinks the odd sensation away.

She forgot he was here. It's rare that Hinata stays this long.

Hope flutters in her sun-warmed chest: an injured bird in her chest strains towards the light source.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, Hinata?"

She experimented with a new cream stew recipe today because her mother expressed a craving for it yesterday and now she faces the reality of eating it alone at a table for six. But really, does she have an appetite anymore? There is a lot of stew to go through, enough leftovers for days.

Knowing Hinata’s voracious appetite, he must be hungry; he came just past noon and they've been nursing a bag of honey butter chips, some water, and tea between each other in the past six hours.

However, he has a family probably waiting for him to start dinner at home.

She's about to rescind her inappropriate request, but Hinata's phone vibrates with a notification.

Hinata glances at the screen briefly.

"Alrighty." He says aloud.

Then Hinata begins the pre-departure routine of putting his books away. He sweeps all the eraser shavings into his palm and disposes them into the wastebasket. He doesn't, however, get up to grab his bag.

He gets up and pads into the kitchen. She finds herself on autopilot, answering his questions about where to get the bowls, plates, utensils, glasses, etc.

The reality of Hinata being in her kitchen, opening her cupboards and drawers to get ready for a meal she prepared causes a cognitive dissonance.

The actual dinner itself passes in a similarly surreal experience, though Hinata unknowingly banishes any likelihood of it being a dream with his interesting (dismal) table manners. He talks with his mouth partially filled. In the spaces between conversation, he eats like he's on death row, clearing the rice and stew and side dishes in a third of the time it takes for her to finish her portion. She tells (doesn't need to ask) him that he can get a second serving, at which he fails to suppress the same happy sound.

(Amazingly, he doesn't choke once.)

He also blatantly disregards the utensils for the dishes and uses his own chopsticks to transfer more meat and vegetables onto her plate because _Yachi-san, you eat like a bird_.

After dinner, she waves off his attempts to help her clean up. It's past nine and although she doesn't doubt that he can definitely outrun and/or outbike creepy nighttime unsavories, a chilly autumn night can be unpredictable. She doesn't want him to get home late and—she shall die from guilt for even thinking it—sick.

Imagine trying to explain to the members that their one and only starter decoy fell sick upon returning home from Hitoka's apartment. That's a terrifying scenario that she never wants realized.

"Thanks for dinner, Yachi-san. I hope your mom enjoys it as much as I did," he pauses, an idea forming on his face. "so you should come over to my house sometime for dinner too! My mom makes the best eggs on rice! Or if you're not such a fan of that—” she inwardly giggles at the affronted twist of his mouth at the notion of anybody disliking his favourite dish. "she can make a ton of other delicious dishes too. You can also meet Natsu. She's less shy around girls; should've seen her meet Kageyama for the first time." He snickers at the memory.

Hitoka smiles. The injured bird within her feels stronger, and suddenly the wide blue sky and its limitless opportunities don't seem so nebulous now.

It’s a few hours later when her mother ventures out of the study room.

Hitoka’s finished tidying up the kitchen and now she’s on the living room sofa, thumbing through a shoujo manga.

The heroine is currently confessing to the reluctant hero, boldly promising that she will help him achieve character redemption. The next few panels depict the hero’s tortured countenance and his thought process is discouraging.

But surely he’ll say yes. That’s the whole point of a romantic happily-ever-after.

“Hitoka? You’re still up.” The older woman remarks in a way that suggests she’s starting a conversation.

Hitoka hums and looks up.

The overhead light illuminates the outlines of Madoka’s fair complexion, casting shadows beneath her eyes, nose, and lips in harsh relief. Her eyes are fixed on a point past Hitoka’s ear. Without makeup on, her appearance is softer. Less bossy, more... motherly?

It takes only ten steps to get to the kitchen. But the chasm between them stretches farther than that.

So Hitoka stays in her seat, waiting.

“Hinata is a nice boy.” Madoka remarks without context.

This catches Hitoka’s full attention. Partly because Hinata is mentioned, and partly because her mother wouldn't mention something out of nowhere.

Despite being absent since Hitoka turned eleven, Madoka is unnaturally intuitive. She picks up on Hitoka's guilt-pleasure-anxiety emotions. A bloodhound on a mission.

“He’s a good sort, the kind of person that can make any girl happy. You chose well.”

Madoka drops her approval for Hinata like a sailor tossing rope overboard to rescue a drowning comrade, but one reluctant to dive into the ocean themselves. She drains her cold tea at the sink and walks back to the study, leaving her sixteen year old daughter to haul herself out of the water.

At first, Hitoka sinks. Her mother’s unexpected words push her into a dark spiral.

Had she been too obvious? Does everyone in the club know? Does Hinata know? He didn’t behave any differently than normal, but maybe that was just Hinata.

Hitoka shakes her thoughts loose. Panicking is futile at this hour. She will finish the manga, get ready for bed, and hopefully wake up tomorrow forgetting this conversation. She flips to the next page, mind still reeling.

There’s only one panel: the heroine and hero weep together in joyful catharsis, and the scene is almost poignant enough to fool anyone into forgetting the future trials awaiting them.

## Miles apart

_**High School, Third year, 2014** _

Time sneaks up on her. Inter Highs and spring tournaments come and go according to the seasons.

When she closes the logbook for the last time, it is the day before their graduation.

She is the only one in the clubroom. Just fifteen minutes ago, it had been packed to the brim with tall sweaty boys, all cooperating to tidy up the small space. The third years had stayed the longest—though they unanimously agreed to bar Hitoka from entering until the clubroom was cleaned to their satisfaction.

There are minor tears in the tatami mat caused by one of many play fights. The colourful stickers on the idol poster dangle precariously but loyally stick to the heads and breasts of each girl. The same oversized zip-up still hangs unclaimed and blocks nearly half the window.

Past its age and imperfections, the clubroom is as good as new. More accurately, it is as new as the day she walked in and put down her name in the managers’ logbook. There are now new names beneath hers, a boy and a girl’s, both possessing more volleyball knowledge than she did starting out.

The tiny desk beneath the window is covered in graffiti, mostly names of the club members, their jersey numbers, and height measurements. Someone had scrawled ‘Shimizu Kiyoko’ and ‘Yachi Hitoka’, each name encased in a star, with ‘We are a Powerhouse School because of our Managers!!!’ written underneath.

Hitoka frowns. Something is missing.

She uses a Sharpie to sketch a crow with three distinct tufts of hair sticking out. It’s an appropriate caricature, considering their school name. Only an extremely observant student may guess that she drew it with Hinata in mind.

Under the crow, she writes, ‘A Little Giant flew here’.

* * *

The Little Giant is destined for the world stage. He can’t be confined to Japan alone.

Hinata flies farther into the future than anyone else.

He buries himself among copies of international volleyball magazines. When he’s not studying or eating or sleeping or playing volleyball or quarrelling with Kageyama, he looks up videos regarding beach volleyball. He watches subtitled interviews featuring pro beach volleyball players.

He aims high, and his shot lands in sunny and exotic Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Hitoka notices these changes in his behavioural patterns because she is readying herself for an impending farewell.

She knows better. The past two years were spent corresponding with other schools, both local and provincial, all requesting for a practice match. During the matches, she hears the players singling out No. 10—which later becomes No. 5, and finally No. 4—from the get-go, and secretly relishes their bewilderment towards his stamina and vertical reach. Even the National Youth Volleyball Association grows aware of his potential, having included Hinata’s name in the team roster during third year.

So she’s honestly not shocked when he decides to challenge fate on his own terms.

Meanwhile, Hitoka discreetly applied for the arts program in Keio University. Only in her quietest moment will she admit to emulating a diluted version of Hinata’s bravery, if not his propensity for extreme measures. The farthest place feasible for herself is Tokyo.

Her mother cocks an eyebrow. “I see. Do your best then, Hitoka.”

Then she returns to the spreadsheet maze she had glared at before her daughter barged into the study unannounced, an acceptance letter crumpling in her grip.

Hitoka retreats to the kitchen. It is another lonely stew night.

Sharp thoughts cut into the numbness: Hinata won’t be studying in the apartment again. She is no longer a member of the Karasuno volleyball club. High school is officially over forever.

That night, the stew loses all semblance of flavour amidst her snot and tears.

* * *

_**University, First year, 2015** _

On the day of Hinata’s departure, five of them are present. Normally the boys would start arguing on the train ride there, but today they are silent.

They have their respective reasons for being quiet. For her part, Hitoka feels the emotional weight on her chest growing heavier as the train approaches Haneda Airport. A phantom ache stings the tip of her nose.

 _Two years_ , she tells herself sternly. _Two years is plenty of time to get over someone_.

A completely different thought worms into her mind. _Two years is also enough time for Hinata to get to know someone_.

Before the gate, Hinata takes his time saying goodbye to them individually. At her turn, he takes one look at her wet face and engulfs her in a warm hug.

Hitoka goes rigid. Her fingers flail between his shoulder and neck.

Then she shuts her brain off. This hug is the last barrier that separates two years from their next reunion. She finally relents and hugs him back.

* * *

Hitoka moves to a cold and empty one-bedroom studio in Tokyo. It is half the size of her mother’s apartment, the rent cheaper by a third, and serves the main purpose.

Outside her walls, the sprawling metropolis city is big and loud—not unlike the volleyball players she knew from high school, really—and she is immediately swept away by its relentless, brutal pace. In Tokyo, she blends into faceless crowds. Tokyo people aren’t villagers A, B, C because there are only twenty six letters in the alphabet. They are numbered up to the millions. Hitoka is probably in the thirty six millions.

The salary-woman lifestyle is her reality, so she dives into academics with fervour. She pushes distractions away. Messages her former classmates and club mates once in a blue moon. She also ignores the twinge in her gut each time Hinata sends her a selfie, or some ambiguous Brazilian/South American landmark he visits on his days off.

She avoids dwelling on high school memories, namely because any thoughts associated with Hinata and volleyball inadvertently detonates a chain reaction of stress.

Don’t die. She would think bleakly at a grinning, pixelated Hinata. Her thoughts inevitably wander to Brazil’s high crime rate and dangerous wild animals. She prays for his safety, and also stupidly prays that he can run faster.

(That’s a moot point since he is the fastest person she knows.)

## Changes, i

_**November, 2018** _

Hinata returns in a flurry of sun bleached orange hair and golden tanned skin.

If Yamaguchi’s phone camera was able to capture the post-Brazil embodiment of glow, good health, and vitality that is Hinata Shouyo, Hitoka begins to torture herself imagining what it would be like to see him in person.

Perhaps his sheer radiance will blind her at first sight.

In truth, she doesn’t get to see him until after his debut in the volleyball league almost a year later. Between her internship and last year of university, work and other adult responsibilities keep her occupied. She barely shaves time to maintain contact with people she knew from high school.

The _Karasuno 4eva_ group chat explodes the day after Hinata’s arrival. All the boys shower Hinata with weird emojis and well wishes while he responds in kind. Sometimes with a smiley face, other times spamming exclamation marks as though he finger smashed his phone in a fit of enthusiasm.

When she hears of the match between the Adlers and Jackals, she doesn’t hesitate to purchase a ticket. It would be her first volleyball match in almost four years.

Now she takes the train back to Sendai, the place where everything began.

* * *

Before the match, she exchanges platitudes with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, both also on track to graduate and start work at different companies in Miyagi. They walk on the same path as her, having decided to prioritize work and a life of relative normalcy.

Her two other not-so-normal, definitely-not-Villager-B, way-out-of-her-league former classmates are on the other end of the spectrum.

Kageyama’s face is plastered on the plasma screens, the announcement of his name reverberating through the entire stadium. This is a Division 1 league match, a full house decked out with mascots, cheerleaders, and older fans. Everything screams bright and loud.

Hinata’s entrance is comparatively less fancy, but he is a striking figure nonetheless. Her heart leaps when she spots him in a corner, stretching out his legs. He is laughing at something Miya Atsumu says, and his expression is so familiar and contagious that she smiles too. He looks relaxed and excited.

She is not the only one to notice him. Around her, people begin to whisper and gesture towards him in intrigue. The new player whose hair is the colour of sunset. A 172 cm player that has replaced the Jackals’ 208 cm cannon.

They have not seen him play before. They don’t know how fast he moves, how high he jumps, how reactive he is to the ball.

 _This is why you went to Brazil_ , she thinks, watching as he propels himself into the air. It’s an undeniably clean and beautiful spike form, and her fingers twitch with a phantom urge to capture the moment.

His vertical reach is higher than ever before.

Hitoka has seen him play many times, but like everyone else sitting around her, she is new to this version of him. This Hinata, universes apart from the first year baby crow she met years ago, who has levelled up significantly unbeknownst to everyone else.

And now, his name is emblazoned on the back of his uniform so that everyone knows who he is.

* * *

She assumes, with baseless confidence, that she can meet Hinata head on without being blinded.

Over the years, she built up tolerance towards his magnetizing aura, becoming so much like the drought-resistant succulent she keeps on her window sill at home. Spending prolonged periods of time with Hinata almost always left her feeling… overexposed. He is the sun itself. Effervescent, vibrant, and strong.

The three of them normal folk meander to the bleachers, getting closer to the remaining players still cooling down on the court. Other spectators—young and old—crowd behind the barricades, eyes shining and fingers gripping large autograph boards.

“Let’s leave now, there’s no chance for us to see them in person with so many fans lining up…” Tsukishima grouches beside her, his lanky stature slightly hunched over as it usually does when Kageyama and Hinata are concerned.

“No, Hinata promised that he would come out and meet us after the match. With Kageyama in tow.” Yamaguchi shakes his head firmly. Years ago, he might have acquiesced to Tsukishima’s demands; but he’s since developed assertiveness through his leadership role in their final year. He does not allow people to influence him easily now.

She momentarily separates herself from their trio, taking a few steps forward and leaning slightly over the barricade. A cursory glance around the court, eyes landing on a handful of vaguely recognizable, sweat-soaked players contorting themselves on the ground, but not the two people she is looking for—

An impossibly hot hand wraps around her wrist, its heat searing through her sleeve. The grip is gentle but above all scorchingly familiar as the person who convinced her to join the club of monsters.

Hitoka glances up, unable and unwilling to fight against the smile splintering her face.

Also—hello, height difference.

Hinata grins back at her. She feels his hand slide downwards to hold hers, squeezing genially. The heat from his palm warms her lukewarm skin.

“Yachi-san!” He says happily. The three years between them seem to fall away at this simple utterance of her name. How does he make it sound so special? Like a mysterious yet delightful secret.

She has touched many hands dwarfing hers in size, able to cover both her fist and wrist. Unsalvageable callused hands no matter how much lotion she offered. Sweaty hands, especially post-game. Injured hands that she splinted and bandaged.

Hinata’s hands are all that and more.

His flushed cheeks and the satisfied glitter in his eyes indicate that he’s still riding the post-game high. Strands of orange lie slick against his skin from the sweat. She isn’t fazed by the sweat at all.

“Hello, Hinata.” She swallows, hoping she doesn’t come off as flustered as she feels.

Hinata is still holding onto her hand, his thumb positioned above her pulse. She doesn’t think he can feel how fast her heart rate is, but this boy—no, man, may be able to sense it. He always had an uncanny ability to discern the most random things.

“You played wonderfully today.” She adds, her words stumbling over each other. This part of her hasn’t changed yet. When faced with him, she somehow reverts to a shy, mumbling teenage girl.

Hinata laughs. A soft but satisfied laugh, one that suggests he is used to such compliments from others.

“Thank you,” he responds humbly. His eyes bore into hers, razor sharp in their focus. He’s stooped down a little, the barricade supporting his weight.

He has an endearing habit of lowering himself down to someone’s eye level before speaking. She noticed that with a young boy earlier. The sound of fluent Portuguese coming out of Hinata’s mouth was a shock to hear at first.

Whatever he sees in her face, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he releases her hand and ushers another person toward her. Kageyama.

She has to crane her neck to meet the setter’s eyes.

“Hi, Kageyama. It’s been awhile.”

She smiles again when the setter makes an effort to lower his head.

“Hello,” Kageyama greets simply. Never one to mince words.

It is refreshing to see that he hasn’t changed much. Behind him, she sees a cluster of children looking after him, hopeful adoration in their watery eyes, clutching on boards with scrawls of his loopy autograph.

Although he will never lose that intimidating aura, adulthood and a legion of supporters at his back over time have softened his sharp edges. It helps that Hinata is around him too.

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, bringing along their own brand of chaos, also join the fray. Finally, the Karasuno monster quintuplet is complete.

## Changes, ii

It takes four years for Hitoka to see Hinata again, but after that it takes less than a day before Hinata reaches out voluntarily.

Well, he actually reaches out to the five of them. Kageyama and Yamaguchi both readily agree to plans for hotpot. Tsukishima stalls, citing the overused excuse of paperwork so he might not make it and such. but Hitoka knows that he will cave. Especially since Yamaguchi accepted.

Hitoka also accepts the invitation. The knowledge that they have to part ways eventually sits as a heavy stone in her stomach. Sooner than later, they will return to their respective orbits and months or more will pass before the next reunion.

It is not her place to worry about whether life will keep everyone apart. No matter how busy their work becomes, how quickly the messaging streaks die down, everyone will be dragged into the centre of Hinata’s universe when he says so. They answered him when he returned from Brazil, and they will continue doing so in the future.

She is the first to arrive. The idea of sitting down at a large table by herself is daunting, so she opts to wait outside for everyone else.

The hotpot restaurant menu is extensive. Even the most inexpensive set far exceeds the price of a bento set from Family Mart. She can afford to splurge this time, Hitoka convinces herself, eyes widening as she goes down the list. Her paycheck came in a few days ago, she’ll just make do with two meals a day for the rest of the month, no big deal.

For this reunion, money is not a big deal at all.

“Yachi-san! You’re early!” Hinata calls out enthusiastically. She straightens, body immediately tensing in preparation of a rogue volleyball coming her way. Stupid muscle memory. It is only Hinata.

He wears an oversized maroon parka that unzips at the front, revealing a dark green plaid button-up shirt underneath. His trademark orange hair is hidden beneath a black bucket hat, his bangs swept up and pressed back. For some reason, the sight of his smooth forehead triples her heart rate.

Apparently, both his forehead and the rest of him makes her forget the most basic manners. Her mother, a formidable woman who fought through gender inequalities in the workplace by the skin of her teeth, definitely not one to lose her composure before any guy, would roll her eyes if she saw her now.

“Hinata, h-hello! I only arrived five minutes ago. I live nearby.” She haphazardly gestures towards the general direction of her apartment.

“I remember! Kageyama and I visited on Saturdays when you patiently helped us through midterms and finals. If it weren’t for you, we probably would not have graduated high school, haha.”

She seizes up, the subtle compliment catching her off guard. After Hinata left, praises were a rare commodity. It is to nobody’s surprise that her instant reaction is denial.

“Oh, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima would have done just as well if I wasn’t there.”

His brows draw together, and the lethal forehead creases slightly.

“Aww Yachi-san, you were the best tutor I could ever ask for. I’ve said it many times but you’ve been a great help to Kageyama and I, especially during the exams prior to the training camps. Can’t thank you enough.”

Hinata leans forward in earnest, breaching the two feet gap between them. Those chocolate eyes are filled with genuine appreciation, enough for her to cease the self-deprecating line of thought.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she replies, flattered. Hinata is way too generous with his smiles, she thinks dazedly when he levels her one of his many blinding ones. He doesn’t just smile with his lips; a smile of his is a full facial workout.

When he stands beside her to study the menu, she discovers ruefully that the top of her head barely reaches his chin. Their close proximity and his temporary preoccupation allow her to take note of other differences in his appearance; namely, the way his tight jeans emphasize his lean and muscled legs, his larger and wider shoulders, and a prominent jawline from the loss of his baby fat.

Hitoka imagines what his body measurements would look like now. They are probably available on the MSBY website, she just hasn’t gotten around to checking yet. Call it a manager’s interest—

“Everything looks good, damn it. Should I order everything? I’m sure that between Kageyama and I, we will demolish the entire table. I miss hotpot so much… haven’t had it in sooooo long!” Hinata exclaims, one hand rubbing his abdomen in anticipation.

“What do you eat in Brazil?” Hitoka asks curiously. She knows that Kenma sponsored a significant chunk of his training expenses abroad, but add-ons like rent, food, and entertainment were probably not included.

Hinata scratches his cheek pensively. “Nothing fancy and definitely not enough Japanese food. I rationed the snacks everyone back home gave me for as long as I could, and mostly cooked for myself because eating out was a luxury I couldn’t—and frankly didn’t want to afford. My coach helped me a lot with my macros. From him, I learned what I should or shouldn’t eat to perform my best in volleyball.”

He swivels around to face her and continues confidently, “I learned how to make my own food, and it gives me a sense of satisfaction knowing what is in it nourishes me. But! He points to the hotpot side dishes. I like to indulge now and then. Balance is key.”

She stares at him in amazement; who is he and what has he done with I-have-a-huge-appetite-and-will-eat-everything-before-me Hinata Shouyo? He is vastly distinguished from the teenage Hinata who could gobble down more than five servings of rice and meat after each match.

“That’s enough about me though. What have you been up to? You’re in your last year of school, right?” Hinata asks eagerly, switching the focus to her too suddenly for her mind to catch up.

“Hm, I’m currently interning at my mom’s company with a few more months left before my graduation,” the bitter laugh at the end of the sentence is a knee-jerk response at the prospect of studying. She mentioned to him before that she didn’t mind studying, but four years of the same routine was ample time for the most diligent student to grow tired of it.

Mired in her consternation, she misses the flicker of concern passing over Hinata’s face.

“In the meantime, I have about six interviews lined up, all with companies in Tokyo and Sendai… but in the end, I think I’ll go with my mom’s company since it’s close to home.”

 _There, that’s my villager B life summarized in a nutshell_ , Hitoka thinks wryly, catching herself before the words leave her. _I would much rather hear more about your experiences in Brazil_.

Both his hands envelop her own, which are fisted around her bag handle. The touch is reminiscent of the day before, not as hot but a steady pressure all the same.

She looks up, breath caught in her chest. Hinata shifts his whole body towards her. The urge to pull away never comes.

His features are aglow with pride. Pride, she realizes, heart jackhammering furiously, for _her_.

“Six interviews? That’s amazing, Yachi-san! To have so many companies want you!” Hinata tugs her a little towards him, and her body follows the motion without resisting. “Aren’t you proud of yourself?”

She stares at him in shock, mouth parted but unable to speak. His steadfast gaze ensnares hers.

“You know, Yachi-san, I had doubts of my own before, during, and even after Brazil. Sometimes, I still look at other people playing volleyball and think, man, why am I so short? Why do I stick to a sport meant for giants? Is it worth the time I spent abroad? Is it worth not getting a college degree, even though I suck at studying?”

He pauses and exhales slowly. It’s like the eight second hush before a serve, but there is no sense of urgency, no place to aim, because this is not a competition. There are no winners or losers here. There is only Hitoka, her anxiety-infested mindset, and Hinata’s infinite patience.

“Yachi-san is smart and amazing, and you’re on your way to amazing things. I don’t want to sound presumptuous because… hmm, this is the first time in a while that we’re talking about serious things. Your experience is different from mine and I don’t know what your concerns are now. But if you ever need to, you can always talk to me about stuff. Stuff that stresses you out or happy stuff like the interviews—really though, six companies is no joke!—and being done with college. Because if you start having doubts, I will always remind you how great and capable Yachi Hitoka is.”

Life is a tumultuous ocean and she is lucky for staying afloat. There is nothing great and capable about that, just a matter of mute acceptance and endurance. But Hinata makes it sound like she won twelve volleyball games in a row.

Hinata also does not miss a beat.

He lets go of her hands in favour of hugging her. One hand reaches up, cupping the back of her head, gently pressing her face into his neck. Her body, once again, does not resist.

“What else will it take for me to convince you?” He asks, the soft question brushing her ear.

 _Hug me. More often. My head isn’t so loud when you touch me. You make my heart happy_.

She abandons those thoughts. Hiding her face in his neck is great idea but they are outside a restaurant in public, where Kageyama or Yamaguchi or Tsukishima or all three may walk in on them at any moment—

Oh God. Their friends might see and she will _not_ survive the embarrassment afterwards. A whimper-cry leaves her and she leaps backwards, even though the notion of deserting Hinata’s friendly, _platonic_ hug so quickly is immoral, akin to kicking an innocent puppy.

He lets her go, his attractive forehead slightly wrinkled under the brim of his bucket hat, his long and muscled arms that embraced her seconds ago falling to his sides.

What most unnerves her is the unexpectedly dark look in his eyes. He studies her, silent and unsmiling. It’s an expression she has observed from the sidelines in a volleyball court, always directed towards the other side of the net or at the ball, a borderline hungry gaze.

Hitoka is utterly defenseless and fully aware that she is drowning.

* * *

Fortunately for Hitoka’s aggrieved nerves, the hotpot dinner itself starts out as a less intense affair. She manages to smile at the right times and add her own input to the present topic discussions. Yamaguchi, the reliable ex-captain he is, takes the lion’s share of leading the conversation. His conversation starters are followed by Hinata’s enthusiasm, which more than makes up for Tsukishima and the perpetually I-only-have-opinions-about-volleyball Kageyama.

During a lull wherein everyone looks down at their empty plates or water glasses, Hinata latches on a topic that pertains to her.

“Ooh! Did you guys hear about Yachi-san getting six interview offers? From Tokyo and Sendai!” He blurts out, raising his glass to the air, only for Kageyama to growl at him to _be careful you dumbass_ when water sloshes out of the glass.

Four pairs of eyes then simultaneously shift to her. Hitoka’s smile freezes.

“Congrats, Yachi! I guess this counts as a celebration for not just Hinata’s return, but also your job prospects huh?” Yamaguchi says in excitement.

Tsukishima has a weirdly smug expression, one that precedes a sarcastic comment.

“So, the idiot knew before us, huh?” He snickers.

Luckily, Hinata’s reaction time saves her from a response. For better or worse, he contests the least relevant part of Tsukishima’s statement. “Hey Tsukishima, who are you calling an idiot!”

“You, dumbass.” Kageyama supplies in a bored monotone.

Why can’t the ground swallow her up already? She needs a drink.

Her eyes, acting on some unexplainable impulse, flit to Hinata’s flabbergasted expression at Tsukishima and Kageyama’s joint effort to mock him. She doesn’t look down as her fingers fumble for her water glass. When her hand grazes against a familiar glassy surface, Hitoka still doesn’t pay attention until she takes a huge gulp.

The liquid is not water.

Its bitter taste burns and scrapes the insides of her mouth and she really wants to spit it out. But then she would be spitting on Hinata directly and she can’t bear to do that so she swallows, and it burns the whole way down her throat.

Almost immediately, her body heats up as it usually does after alcohol enters her system.

“Y-yachi-san! That was—!”

“Oh my God, she took a shot.”

“From _your_ glass, Yamaguchi. Why would you put it so near to hers?”

“... is she turning red already?”

Someone removes the glass from her trembling fingers.

“Yachi, here. Water. It’ll rinse out the bitterness.” Another glass is pressed into her hands.

“S-sorry,” she mumbles, though she is unsure why she’s apologizing. For not sharing the news herself? For drinking out of Yamaguchi’s glass? For making a fool of herself? All of the above?

A warm hand pats her shoulder. “No harm done.”

She collapses against Yamaguchi’s side, half relieved and half dizzy from the single shot she took. She knows that Kageyama wasn’t exaggerating with his observation; her face turns crimson within seconds.

“Okay well, Yachi is out of commission now. Do you guys wanna call it a night too?” Yamaguchi suggests wryly.

Hitoka’s eyes slide shut. The drowsiness will ambush her soon so she has no objections.

“Sure. It’s almost eight thirty and my bedtime is nine pm sharp every night.” Tsukishima deadpans.

Hinata gasps. “Wow! Tsukishima, you’re like a grandpa!”

“Says the dumbass who goes to bed at nine thirty.” Kageyama sneers.

“What is up with you and Tsukishima, I swear you both are ganging up on me tonight. And sleep is important, Kageyama-kun! Look at the dark circles under Yachi-san’s eyes!”

“Alright kids, let’s go.”

Before she reaches for her purse, Hinata stops her. “Yachi-san, we’re gonna split the bill fourways. You don’t have to pay tonight.”

The other guys unanimously agree for once. Yamaguchi ignores her protests as he also gets up, credit card in hand. Defeated, she goes outside to wait for them.

The winter chill is colder at night, and she wraps her coat tighter around herself. Tokyo is warmer than Sendai, though it snows frequently. Less windy too. Or maybe she’s more susceptible to the elements due to fatigue and a bit of alcohol.

She wonders if her mother is still slaving away at the office on an empty stomach. Perhaps she can salvage some ingredients to cook soup for a late supper. Soup suits this type of weather best…

“Let’s go, Yachi-san. I’ll walk you home.”

The black bucket hat is back on Hinata’s head. He stands before her expectantly, hands buried in his pockets. Standing in the wind with an unzipped coat, he seems impervious to the cold.

“Where’s everyone else?” She asks haltingly, if only to delay the inevitable.

Hinata cocks his head to the side in amusement. “They already left. Said goodnight and everything. I think you zoned out,” he leans in, and Hitoka reflexively steps back. She blames it on the alcohol imbibing her senses.

“Or are you a little drunk? Lightweight Yachi-san,” he teases. Without waiting for a response, he takes her hand in his, tugging her to his side. “Come on.”

He walks on the left side, closer to the main road. Cars whiz past intermittently, the streaks of red and yellow and blue illuminating his lean profile.

They walk together for a while without speaking. She imagines that the discussion before dinner as well as the two hours spent catching up with everyone else, have drained away the need to fill the air with small talk.

When they are about a hundred meters away from the building, Hinata asks if she’s feeling okay.

“A little tired but nothing a night of sleep can’t fix,” she responds honestly. Then she remembers his comment earlier about her eye bags; those are nothing compared to her all-nighters. Typical college student lifestyle. On a good day, she can get up to six hours.

Well, Hinata doesn’t have to know about that. Yamaguchi already nags at her enough for five grandmothers on her poor sleep schedule and eating habits.

Hitoka has never been a good liar anyway. Instead, she filters her crappy realities into digestible quarter-truths, and feeds them to whomever cares to ask.

She can do that with Hinata; bid him goodnight knowing how unlikely she will contact him voluntarily. By the time college purgatory finally releases her, he would have left Japan and gone to some other obscure country. He is a crow; birds that can survive anywhere and everywhere.

This might be the last time they see each other for a while. A while can be five days or five years.

They stop in front of the entrance.

“Thanks for covering my bill and walking me home, Hinata. Let’s keep in touch, okay? Get home safe.”

He lifts his head a little. A square patch of light hits his jaw. “I want to see you again.”

This is reality: He could ask her to spend an entire day, week, month, year, and more with him, and she would yield.

This, unfortunately, is also reality: Her train to Tokyo leaves tomorrow at 4pm.

She tells Hinata so, and he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Do you want to see me too?”

No: her life is not a shoujo manga. There is no joyful catharsis, no mutual hugging and crying involved. In fact, she faces the risk of desiring more. It’s not enough to watch him from afar anymore. She’s had a taste, and her heart grows greedy.

Yes: she will scavenge all the crumbs he can spare her. She will take his kindness and run.

“Yes,” the word springs forth with the forcefulness of a curse. Hinata isn’t fazed. Maybe he is laughing at her because Hitoka is indecisive as ever.

“Great, I’ll be here bright and early at 9am to pick you up! Dress light and don’t bring your valuables along,” he says. “ah right, we’re not in Rio anymore. Never mind, you can bring personal stuff if you want, though it won’t be necessary.”

He sends her a wink. “Goodnight, Yachi-san. Say hi to your mom for me.”

He raises his hand for a wave, and takes his leave.

## Sunburn

As promised, Hinata shows up bright and early in Yamaguchi’s sedan. She doesn’t expect to see him behind the wheel.

She berates herself for underestimating him. Obviously they are both adults, so options such as transit and driving licenses do exist. Just an hour ago, she had worked herself into a frenzy imagining he would arrive with a bicycle.

They had stopped by Sakanoshita—to Ukai’s indignant and surprised pleasure—and he graciously gave them six meat buns.

“On the house!” Ukai said over their protests.

“Don’t worry about it. I should thank you for the entertaining match with Adlers, shrimpy,” he ruffled Hinata’s hair affectionately. “you’ve grown—” he squinted in mock affront. “—a lot. But you’re still shorter than me, ahaha!”

Hinata only laughed. “I can jump higher than you.”

Ukai nodded solemnly. His eyes darted between Hitoka and Hinata.

“Just you two today? Where’s everyone else?”

“Probably doing their own thing. I’m taking Yachi-san out for the day before she goes back to Tokyo.”

“Hmm.”

Thankfully Ukai didn’t say anything else. He waved them off with demands to visit more often.

Hitoka hugged the warm paper bag to her chest, bowing deeply.

This whole trip home, initially to watch Hinata and Kageyama’s game, had morphed into a trip down memory lane. In the span of a few days, she reconnected with former teammates, managers, and classmates.

And this morning, Sakanoshita. The meat buns smell as delicious as the first night Hinata pressed a piping hot bun into her hands, claiming that it was the best meat bun in the world. Ukai’s shop displays are unchanged, save for the weekly specials board sitting beside the entrance. The hot cocoa she got every other evening after club activities was still available.

The Sendai she grew up knowing is nothing like Tokyo’s bustling environment; but nostalgia paints a rosy patina over shop lots, houses, and convenience stores off the beaten path. She appreciates Sendai’s simplicity and kindness.

“Where are we going?” She asks when Hinata turns into a new road.

His responding smile is achingly familiar in its mischief, hitting her with a potent pang of nostalgia. He, too, is reliving memories.

“The beach!”

* * *

The weather stays clear throughout the drive. Hitoka smells the salt in the air long before they pull into the parking lot. As a warm breeze blows past and smacks hair into her face, she wishes that she brought her sunglasses. The straw hat will have to suffice.

Arms bearing meat buns and drinks, they hunt for a vacant spot.

The beach is relatively sparse. Bits of sand infiltrate her sandals and get between her toes. Hinata walks barefoot ahead of her; he took off his runners in the car earlier.

 _He came well-prepared_ , Hitoka observes as he unfolds the beach towel carefully. _Well, of course. He lived in Rio for two years_.

She wonders at the differences between Brazilian beaches and the one before her. Is the sand softer or coarser? Darker or lighter? Are the waves louder? People probably sunbathe often, since sunbathing seems to happen anywhere else but Japan. Girls would stride around in bikinis, or less.

Hinata takes a large bite out of a bun—regardless of how beautiful Brazilian beaches may be, Hitoka is sure they don't sell the ‘best meat buns in the world’.

If he’s visiting the beach, he might be missing Brazil.

“Who did you meet in Brazil?” She finds herself asking.

If Hinata is caught off guard by the question, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he ponders the ocean waves, letting the question settle for four wave crests.

The left corner of his lips quirks up from some unknown memory. “I met my roommate Pedro, he taught me a lot of Portuguese. Heitor came to me so that we could form a beach volleyball team, and through him I met Nice. They’re happily married and have a son now.”

His eyes reflect the shimmering splendour of sunlit waters, golden sand, and an azure sky. At this point in time, he feels distant. More distant than the two years he spent on the other side of the earth: coaching children in volleyball, cooking for himself, meeting people from all walks of life.

It occurs to Hitoka that his heart might belong in that climate. The additional two years he promised to Japan suddenly seems miniscule. A blip in the ravaging storm of Hinata’s unpredictable life.

Ninja Shouyo, as the Brazilians call him fondly, can easily change his mind and disappear again.

The waves break out, rolling back into the horizon.

Hitoka rubs absently at her arms in a futile attempt to soothe the heat. This is a depressing reminder of how rarely she ventures into sunlit places that she forgets to buy sunscreen for this particular excursion.

Meanwhile, Hinata stretches under the sun, languid and unbothered. Beside him, a nondescript white bottle pokes out from his fanny pack.

“Hinata, can I borrow some sunscreen?” She asks.

He perks up. “Of course! Want me to put it on for you?”

A scene common in nameless American beach movies replays in her head: Girl in a Bikini lies atop a striped beach towel on her stomach, whereas Boy in Swim Trunks next to her lathers sunscreen and applies it liberally on Girl’s exposed back and legs. Boy massages the sunscreen into Girl’s freckled skin.

Hitoka is that Girl. But she’s not wearing a bikini. In fact, her long white dress only exposes her freckle-free arms and neck. Unlike the Girl, she can’t feign indifference at the notion of Hinata touching her bare skin. Her thoughts careen dangerously, on the verge of entering uncharted fantasies.

But Hinata is already getting up and brushing off excess sand from his unbelievably toned thighs and arms. She notes with perverse fascination that his skin does not jiggle since every inch of him is heavy muscle.

The refusal dies in her throat.

“I have lots of sunscreen leftover from Brazil. Don’t want it to go to waste ‘cuz it’s the good quality stuff,” Hinata pops open the cap, and squeezes a big dollop onto his palm. “made from natural ingredients, water resistant, and it smells great too! I just hope you’re not allergic.”

Hitoka shakes her head as he reaches for her left arm first. The sunscreen smells like coconuts. Hinata smears a white swath from bicep to forearm, then begins the devil’s work of rubbing the sunscreen in.

He kneads her skin, firm and sure in his movements. The friction between his palm calluses and her skin is unexpectedly pleasant.

She feels like she can fall asleep being massaged, surrounded by coconuts and ocean waves.

He moves onto her other arm, repeating the motions.

This time, his fingers trace past her wrist, and his palm meets hers in a sudden burst of heat. She jolts in shock. Hinata carries on, either not noticing or ignoring the reaction.

“You have beautiful fingers, Yachi-san,” he says, tracing her digits with his own longer ones.

They are just fingers. She never considered her fingers particularly nice-looking because they were just fingers, appendages to draw and write and touch with. Her mother only ever forced her to break the habit of cracking her knuckles, insisting that doing so would render her fingers stout and ugly.

Hinata, for some strange reason, appreciates them. His fingers trail fires in their wake, the touch searing into her skin. After he makes a point of pinching the tips of her fingers lightly, he finally lets go.

Something in her has been melting steadily since he started touching her. Her face is flaming and the heat is making it worse. A breeze blowing by barely cools her down.

Hinata gets behind her—and dear God if _that_ doesn’t sound terribly suggestive. A familiar coldness hits the nape of her neck. There’s a short pause where Hinata doesn’t move to touch her yet, and her body stiffens in breathless anticipation.

A single puff of air skitters against her neck, before his fingers start rubbing, spreading and warming the sunscreen. She tries not to read into the intimacy of this moment.

 _He’s done this many times_ , she thinks instead, mindlessly lolling her head forwards to grant him greater access. Pleasure spikes in her belly. _Who else did he touch like this, massage like_ —

His fingers locate a tight knot just above her scapula, and he presses. There’s a brief flare of pain and the knot unravels. It’s so sudden and the relief coursing through her is so overwhelming that Hitoka twitches once—

—and moans.

Hinata’s fingers stop.

She just moaned in front of Hinata, because of Hinata. In that split second, the undercurrent of tension, the one she labelled as a harmless ‘ _I’m just overreacting because it’s been a while_ ’ excuse sheds its onion layers and emerges naked, stinging, and victorious. It pulses in the silent air that hangs between them.

Her hands clench around soft sand in agitation. She half expects the sand grains embedded in her finger beds to hurt. To distract her from the present.

Hitoka considers ways where she can casually pass the moan off as something else; a pathetic attempt to feign nonchalance. She’s played this balancing act in the few times she’s slipped up during high school.

She is about to summon a random excuse and escape the addictive friction between his calluses and her skin, when Hinata shifts and adjusts his hands to cup her shoulders. Ten heartbeats later, his grip tightens. Her body yields to the gentle urging of his hands as he turns her around.

One hand slides up to cup her jaw.

She glances up and almost doesn’t recognize him.

Gone was the boy who bemoaned studying and shied away from attention. In his place is someone whose expression is dark and unreadable, one meant for players that verbally underestimate him. If not for the light touch on her jaw, she would think he was angry.

Even so, she gets a gist of how scary he can be.

Hitoka also catches something in his appraisal that resembles desire, because she’s looked at him the same way for years.

She barely deciphers the rest of his emotions before his other hand reaches up, both hands now cradling her face. She’s caught.

Trying to catch him is like playing tag with an elusive cheetah. But when he puts his effort into chasing something, that’s another story entirely.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, breath tickling her nose.

“... yes.”

He laughs in relief and leans forward.

## Make up your mind

After what seemed less like a kiss and more like an exercise for her lack of self-control, those spiteful thoughts surge quickly to the forefront. The doubt and insecurity that became almost second nature seize possession of her body.

Hitoka is no stranger to the perils of unrequited feelings. She herself was a byproduct of it. Her romance inclined friends have on multiple occasions bemoaned the impossibilities in finding The One. The One can manifest in a random guy crossing the street, someone who held the door open for others, a good looking and smart classmate, etc.

When Hinata’s stray volleyball hit her nose, those feelings accosted her so suddenly that she hasn’t completely recovered yet. Hasn’t surrendered yet despite the multiple ways she skirted the issue, made excuses that began and ended with her misgivings.

She had fought and yielded and fought and yielded until what-ifs and worst case scenarios engraved themselves in her back brain. They slither out like spooked snakes whenever she dared to hope. Dared to believe a smidgen of reciprocating interest in Hinata’s demeanour.

She springs out of his arms, only registering later that he let go as soon as he felt her tense up.

Her mouth is raw and oversensitive, pulsing from the prolonged contact. Hitoka doesn’t bother worrying about her appearance; her straw hat sits askew on her head. Her chest rises and falls in short intervals. She doesn’t know that kissing meant compromising air circulation.

It is frustrating that she also wants more.

Hinata fares a little better. He is also breathing heavily, and his tan makes the flush across his cheeks less obvious. His lips, too, are red and swollen.

He looks winded and utterly desirable. A ripe tangerine for picking.

“Yachi, this is… already super obvious, I hope.”

She can make guesses, but she won’t believe her deductions until he confirms the ‘obvious’ thing.

“I’ve been giving you hints this whole time. I dunno, are you just super used to holding hands and hugging? I’ve been doing that a lot and you didn’t really react. I was so worried last night that I’d chicken out of telling you so I ended up demanding this—this date! I’m sorry! But uh, you didn’t complain once and you… kissed me back…”

He falters, eyes darting downwards to her lips.

“I like you.”

 _Oh_. It’s one thing to imagine him say it, and another totally different situation when he actually says it. In person, he says it unabashedly. And he has no qualms breaching her personal space while doing so.

Conflicting emotions pool in her stomach. She’s joyful, anxious, relieved, and nervous all at once. The earth continues to spin, ambivalent to the rapid thudding of her heart and Hinata’s silent expectation.

Freedom suits Hinata. He is free as the waves that pound against the shore and trail frothy eddies in their wake. Like the sun beaming from above. A magnificent creature meant to be among clouds and stars.

And she, the one burdened by gravity, confined to a city of steel, cold winters, sixty-hour work weeks, and crippling self-doubt, would be a liability. She would force him to look backwards and downwards because of her.

She bites her lip, heart jolting this time at Hinata’s quick glance downwards again at the unconscious action.

“I like you too, Hinata. But I don’t know how things will work out once we’re together.”

She sounds flatter than Kageyama did in the power curry commercial.

Hinata raises his eyebrows slightly. She can tell he is doing the super focus, narrow examination he does during each match, sizing up his opponents and determining the best way to defeat them.

Ultimately, he aims for a less confrontational approach. “Why not?” Hinata asks in a genuinely curious voice.

Hitoka swallows, struggling to convey the abstract hopelessness she feels. “Because you’re a professional athlete and I’m just a s-salary woman. Our lines of work aren’t compatible and won’t allow us to see each other often. I’ve never been in a relationship so I don’t know how I’ll cope with long-distance. And… I don’t want a relationship to—to hold you back f-from volleyball.”

“Wait. So it’s not just because you—for some weird reason—lack faith in yourself. You also don’t believe in me.” He doesn’t shout but she flinches anyway.

Hitoka cuts him off in a rush. “No, I do believe in you! 100%, no, 200%!”

On the contrary, Hinata isn’t pacified at the least. His fists slam into the sand, and of course the sand completely absorbs the impact without sound. The motion does not come across as aggression; he is frustrated.

“If that’s the case, why do you think a relationship won’t work? Do you think that volleyball eclipses everything else in my life? Do you think that I’d choose volleyball over you every single time? Would I forget you and everyone because of volleyball? That’s ridiculous.”

These questions are purely rhetorical. Nevertheless, Hitoka checks each one off in her head: yes, volleyball is everything to him. He should choose volleyball because it brings him joy. It’s not selfishness to pursue volleyball for life because it’s his life.

However, he didn’t forget her—or Yamaguchi or Tsukishima or anyone who isn’t already making their own marks on the world stage—in the two years away. He is different from Kageyama in that respect; someone who does have a limit for volleyball despite his seemingly enduring commitment. Hitoka is relieved that she didn’t fall for Kageyama.

“Volleyball is important, but other things in life are also important. You’re important to me.”

He comes closer, leaving about six inches of space between their noses. Her buzzing thoughts cease.

“I think… you should be honest with yourself, Yachi. Do you want more?”

More what? Kissing? Hugging? Arguing for and against herself for something she wants but can’t bring herself to admit?

“Do you want to be with me?” Hinata clarifies.

She is briefly reminded of the time Hinata ran with her to catch up with her mother at the train station. She had drawn courage from his illuminating presence to declare her intentions over rush hour bystanders.

Perhaps _this_ is her Brazil moment. It is sitting right before her, waiting patiently as ever. Her mother isn’t around to hear her whine and cave and finally reach a decision. There is only Hinata and he already knows her answer without the need for words.

She moves and her hands clamp around his. If her palms feel sweaty or gross, Hinata doesn’t complain. Instead, he cracks a smile.

“I want to be with you.” Her words stumble over each other but her resolve is clear.

He pulls her into a harder, longer kiss.

* * *

_**February, 2019** _

“You seem more cheerful nowadays,” Madoka comments.

As with most things in life, this rapid proliferation of cheerfulness that her mother notices must stem from Hinata’s influence.

The self-satisfied glint in Madoka’s eyes is telling enough.

Hitoka had withheld the new development in her relationship with Hinata, the way she hid her feelings from him for more than five years. But Madoka is home for a change, and Hitoka doesn’t think she’ll get another opportunity to talk over dinner anytime soon. She decides to rip the band-aid off.

“Hinata and I are seeing each other.”

Madoka’s spoon clinks against the plate, though it sounds more from coincidence than reaction. Hitoka stares down at the muddy miso soup. Miso dregs precipitate at the bottom like an expanding thundercloud. For lack of things to fiddle with, she retrieves her own spoon and stirs the soup, restoring its normal consistency.

Her mother had been near her age when she got into a relationship. Her boyfriend at the time promised that he would take responsibility for three-months pregnant Madoka. The next morning, Madoka woke up to a cold bed and half-empty house. For a bright young woman starting out in a design firm, it wasn’t the best of beginnings. The idea of raising a baby alone in her early twenties raised questions.

But Madoka was strong-willed.

And now, Hitoka continues stirring the miso soup—twenty two years old and unable to make eye contact with her mother. That part of her life history is a partial reason she hasn’t quite said anything to Madoka yet. Hitoka isn’t sure if she’s emotionally prepared for Madoka’s judgment. She envisions her mother grimacing and lecturing her about the vices of men. Their tendency for infidelity.

Hinata isn’t that kind of guy; Hitoka is prepared to defend him in that regard.

“Good for you. I told you before that he’ll make you happy.” Madoka fishes a stray tofu cube out of her miso soup. “I’ll admit that I don’t fully trust him yet. Dating a professional athlete can be difficult; you’ll have to learn how to deal with the attention and exposure. He has to be committed in order to make things work.

“But I trust you. You may worry and stress out easily, but things always turn out alright in the end. I’m rooting for you both.”

Hitoka’s spoon falls with a clatter and this time, it is a reaction.

Madoka deems the subject closed; she frowns at the stain on the table. Before she says anything else, Hitoka shoots out of her seat and bolts to the kitchen for a rag.

* * *

“Ooh, so she gave us her blessing! That’s awesome Yachi!”

Hitoka clutches her cell phone tightly. There’s a burst of static from Hinata’s end before the line stabilizes once more.

Hinata, along with MSBY team, had gone to Hyogo Prefecture for a week; they were due to return tomorrow afternoon. Before he left, they had both agreed on calling each other at least once every two days. He has no shortage of funny anecdotes about his day. So far, the arrangement has worked out well.

No, she chides herself, it will work out. Stop being so pessimistic.

The static picks up again. Hitoka is bewildered.

“I think I might have a connection issue,” she says, hoping that the call doesn’t get cut off by accident.

Hinata laughs. “No, it’s me.”

“Oh. Are you underground or something?”

“No.” She hears him panting in the background. Where is he running to?  
“You’re in the Tokyo apartment now, right?”

“Yes…?”

“Oh thank God.”

“Hinata, what’s going on?”

He pants harder in response. No answer. Hitoka waits.

Her door bell rings.

“Wait a moment, Hinata. Someone’s at the door,” she says into the receiver. She isn’t expecting anybody at this hour…

Another laugh interrupts her suspicion, but Hinata doesn’t elaborate.

Hitoka peers into the peephole. She sees a familiar black bucket hat.

She has never opened a door so quickly. Hinata is heaving on her doorstep, his phone at his side.

“Haha, surprise?” He splays his free hand, his motions endearingly awkward. “We were given an extra day off, so I thought I’d come back earlier.”

Hitoka beams brightly. The snakes in her head slither away silently. She steps forward and wraps her arms around him.

Her own ray of light.

“Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first canon character pairing story! First and foremost, I became inspired after seeing [ chupa_aaa ](https://twitter.com/chupa_aaa/status/1287294734113763331/photo/1) and  td_ank 's Hinayachi fanart! Great stuff. (The artwork is in Japanese but I think their art is intuitive enough that you get a rough idea of what's happening. Definitely doesn't take away from the cUtENeSS). 
> 
> This took me a long time. Maybe it's the change of POV that got me...
> 
> Also, you'll notice (maybe not) that I didn't do a kiss scene here. I'm useless with those scenes, unfortunately. But if I don't manage to scratch your itch for Hinayachi, I highly recommend luckubus'  Hiding From The Sun ! It's an absolute gem and deserves all the love. 
> 
> As always, comments are much appreciated!


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